


Can I kiss you?

by Anamellie



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Communication, Feelings Realization, Fluff, Getting Together, Introspection, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Sakusa pov, lots of communication
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:20:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26463310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anamellie/pseuds/Anamellie
Summary: Sakusa does some thinking at a teammate's wedding. Thinking of the romantic sort:When was it that he started noticing Atsumu looking at him. When was it that he started looking for Atsumu’s eyes, to anchor him, to remind him that he’s safe. When was it that he started wanting Atsumu’s eyes on him, when he started needing them. When was it that he started wanting him?
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 6
Kudos: 121





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A brief almost panic attack, so careful with that.  
> Angsty, but not too much, I think.

Atsumu was looking at him. Again.

Kiyoomi had shown up early to the wedding, fully intent on keeping his promise to give proper congratulations to the bride and groom, and he couldn’t do that if he watched some three hundred odd people kiss and hug them as well. So instead he had to be first. Motoya came with him to keep him company while they waited for the official reception to start. Miyas came early as well, Osamu as a friend of the bride, Atsumu probably just to watch Kiyoomi sweat at the prospect of giving people hugs.

He cursed at himself for befriending Bokuto and his psychologist bride, who had dared him to hug them at the wedding. Cursed Bokuto’s outgoing nature that resulted in three hundred invitees scattered around a reception hall of an upscale hotel in Tokyo. Thanked them both for seating him at a table for four with Motoya, Ushijima and his girlfriend, at least he would have some peace.

Atsumu was sitting a couple of tables away, at a table for twelve filled with a number of their national team colleagues, friends and acquaintances, whose personalities were supposed to cancel each other out, Kiyoomi guessed. It seemed to be working too, the twins hadn’t yet started a fight, Hinata was chatting to a different member of the group every time Kiyoomi looked up, even Kageyama, looking more defeated by the hour, was talking calmly to Atsumu. Kiyoomi wondered how he hadn’t walked out yet, he looked like he belonged at their table more than the one he was allotted.

“I can switch places with him, you know,” Motoya said softly.

“Yes, I was just thinking that Kageyama would fit in here.”

“Not the setter I was talking about,” chuckled Motoya. Kiyoomi glared at his cousin. Ushijima and his girlfriend were suddenly looking at some flower decorations across the room, pointedly avoiding the conversation at their table.

Kiyoomi went back to his food, ignoring the teasing.

“Guess I’ll stay then,” Motoya concluded, exasperated.

Silence followed. After a while, they started talking again. A few comments about the food, some praise for the wine, a couple of laughs. Easy, friendly, the kind of interaction Kiyoomi could handle. Until his face started to burn and his neck itched to turn slightly again. Brown eyes were waiting for his, question in them obvious: “Are you doing okay?” He gave a small smile and Atsumu went back to talking to his brother. Kiyoomi kept watching him.

At some point in the afternoon, Kiyoomi concluded that Atsumu’s looks came in three flavors. One: a teasing, flirty look Atsumu had been giving him since Kiyoomi had joined the Black Jackals, maybe even earlier, but he hadn’t realized. A look that said he just had to nod and Atsumu would be doing to him whatever Kiyoomi wanted, however he wanted. While usually these looks were coming at him any chance Atsumu got, mostly just to annoy him, even though Kiyoomi had his doubts that at least a number of them were genuine, today they were fewest in number. Two: a look of concern, a question, a method of checking in on him. These looks came about once per hour, unless Atsumu caught him frowning at something, then any look he’d be giving him transformed into that one. All he had to do was smile or nod and the other man would go back to whatever he was doing before. Three: this one was the oddest. It wasn’t flirty and it wasn’t concerned, instead it was warm and easy, an anchor in a sea of strangers. And it was there almost every time Kiyoomi looked up. Oddly enough, even though he was sitting next to his cousin, the one person most likely to be able to navigate his issues and disorders, today it was Atsumu who made him breathe easy.

Kiyoomi wondered when that happened. When was it that he started noticing Atsumu looking at him. When was it that _he_ started looking for Atsumu’s eyes, to anchor him, to remind him that he’s safe. When was it that he started _wanting_ Atsumu’s eyes on him, when he started _needing_ them. When was it that he started wanting _him_?

He wasn’t ready, he knew that. Not after the disaster his latest (only really) breakup was back in his third year of university. Not after he’d just started therapy to work through his phobias and panic attacks half a year ago. He couldn’t make someone deal with that. Especially not while he also seemed to be discovering same-sex attraction at twenty- _fucking_ -three. Not when that someone was a colleague, a teammate, _a friend_. He couldn’t experiment with Atsumu, not after all the concerned and _warm_ looks the setter had been giving him. If only those looks stayed _flirty_ , if only Kiyoomi were capable of a casual fuck to satisfy his curiosity. But he wasn’t. And it wouldn’t be _fair_ , not to himself, and especially not to Atsumu.

_He couldn’t breathe._

He needed to get out. He looked up and remembered that the door to the reception hall’s terrace was right next to his table. He cursed at himself again, this time for being mean to Bokuto and his now-wife. They gave him a fighting chance to survive this and he was being a jerk to them in his head. _Ass._

Kiyoomi opened the terrace door and walked out. The July air was stuffy, but the change of scenery managed to pull him out of the beginnings of a panic attack. He took a deep breath and walked over to where several potted evergreens stood and leaned on the fence. He closed his eyes and listened to the sounds of the city he grew up in.

The door opened again. A tuft of blond hair popped out. Brown eyes looked for him, concerned.

“I’m alright,” he breathed.

Atsumu closed the door behind him carefully. He turned around to face Kiyoomi again. The look in his eyes was flirty, _hungry_.

“You’ve been looking at me an awful lot today, Omi-kun.” His voice was sultry. He could have anyone here today, Kiyoomi thought, _anyone he wanted_ , what was he doing here?

Kiyoomi watched Atsumu’s expression change as he walked over, seductiveness melting away from him until all that was left was that warm, fond look he’d been giving Kiyoomi all day.

He stood in front of him, only slightly to the side, one hand on the railing, the other hovering above Kiyoomi’s hip.

“Can I kiss you?” he whispered, insecure.

Kiyoomi stared at him, eyes wide, mind scrambled. Something in the back of his head screamed that Atsumu wasn’t concerned or being flirty, he was just there. With _him_. Kiyoomi took a deep breath.

“ _Yes_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not too happy about my writing style here, it's been a while since I wrote something and it's the first thing I've published, so I'm also not sure if I'll keep it as a one-shot or continue if I feel better about the style.
> 
> I'm not really into "everyone is gay" tropes, which is why I added some original characters. Also, Bokuto's the one getting married because the idea that he's the first from the Monster Gen to get married is just inherently funny to me. And since gay marriage isn't legal in Japan, he's marrying a woman.
> 
> Alright, I think that's all I wanted to say, comments and criticism welcome.


	2. Chapter 2

Atsumu kissed slowly, softly. There was no bite, no dragging of lips, no push and pull, just gentle presses of lips against his own. Firm, but gentle. That’s probably not how he usually kissed, Kiyoomi thought, but that’s how Atsumu kissed _him_.

It didn’t leave him breathless, it didn’t make his head spin, it didn’t overwhelm him. And he was sure that was exactly what Atsumu was going for. It made him smile softly at the kisses being pressed to his lips.

Atsumu pulled back, he didn’t linger for a second. That stung Kiyoomi’s ego a bit, but there was no way he’d admit that.

“I…khm… Would…ah… Would tongue be okay?”

Atsumu’s eyes were gleaming with the decoration lights strung along the terrace reflecting in them. All of him was gleaming, really, in Tokyo’s July dusk. Why was he so pretty? _Since when do I think of guys as pretty?_ Kiyoomi thought he should try to pinpoint when that started happening. He should think about that, he definitely should, but maybe not right now.

“Shouldn’t you be able to read the room and proceed accordingly?”

“Sure, that’s how I’d normally go about things, but, ah,” he wiped his palm on his slacks, “with you it’s different. I don’t want to fuck this up.” Kiyoomi barely caught that last part.

Did someone slip him an honesty pill? He wasn’t familiar with this version of Atsumu. He liked it though, enough to stop trying to tease him. Besides, normally their dynamic worked because they were both being dicks, it’d be no fun if only one of them was playing.

He should return honesty in kind.

“Yes.”

Atsumu nodded. “My hand on your neck or jaw? In your hair? The other on your waist? Maybe your back?”

“Yes to all of that. Just don’t move too much, that might overwhelm me.” They were really going places with this honesty streak.

“Sure, okay. You can touch me wherever you’d like.” With that, he slid his right hand over Kiyoomi’s cheek, placing it right below his jaw, fingers lightly threading into his curls and thumb stroking between his cheek and ear. The other one went to his waist, gripping only slightly.

Kiyoomi put one of his hands on Atsumu’s hip, running his thumb over the bone he could feel jutting out under the slacks. The texture calmed him. His other hand went to the one that was holding his waist, he wrapped his fingers around Atsumu’s wrist, then traced along his forearm and pressed his fingers into the soft part of his elbow. He appreciated the softness of Atsumu’s royal blue dress shirt, running his fingers up and down a few more times before he stilled them back on his elbow.

“Good?”

“Mm-hm.” Atsumu smiled at his reply.

God, he was beautiful. How was he so beautiful? Was he always this beautiful? If not, when did he become beautiful? Did he just show up to this wedding with his warm looks and gorgeous smiles? Was he beautiful two weeks ago on the flight back from Germany after Nations League? Was he beautiful when Kiyoomi had joined the Jackals in early 2018? His mind was short-circuiting. _When did this happen?_

Atsumu was still smiling at him.

“I like it when you smile like this,” he blurted. Then he cringed, _hard_. He was definitely suffering some kind of brain damage, there was no other explanation for this.

“I like it when you say shit like that, Omi. Maybe we should put you in stressful situations more often, seems great for my self-esteem.” His voice was teasing, but the smile didn’t change into a smirk. Kiyoomi appreciated that.

“Your self-esteem doesn’t need my help,” he tried biting back. It wasn’t a very good comeback, but it didn’t seem to matter either, Atsumu was squeezing his waist lightly, leaning into him.

Atsumu still kissed him slowly, softly. He pressed kisses into his bottom lip, his top lip, the corner of his mouth, still never pushing, never bruising. For all Kiyoomi knew, it could have been forever before he felt Atsumu’s tongue slide softly over his bottom lip. He opened his mouth on reflex, their tongues briefly meeting before Atsumu pulled away again to place a soft kiss on a random part of his mouth. It went on and on like that, a set of soft kisses, a brush of tongue, sometimes an explorative venture into each other’s mouth, rinse, repeat. Atsumu gave the edges of Kiyoomi’s top teeth a lick or two and Kiyoomi bit him on the lip as he pulled back.

When they eventually pulled apart, dusk had already settled into darkness.

Neither of them seemed to know what to do next. They kept their hands on each other, nuzzled their noses together softly. Atsumu pressed another chaste kiss on Kiyoomi’s lips.

“Ah… We should probably head back.”

Was that it, Kiyoomi wondered. Would they just walk back in and never speak of it again? Would Atsumu keep checking in on him back in the crowd? Would brown eyes keep waiting for his whenever he looked up? Insecurity washed over him.

“Sure,” he replied, hoping his voice wouldn’t crack.

Atsumu placed both his hands on Kiyoomi’s waist and whispered, “We could go somewhere later, if you want.”

“You mean, like a love hotel?”

“Sure, if you’d like. Or a walk, both’d be fine.” Brown eyes were looking at him with hope.

“A love hotel wouldn’t work. I’d need to shower and I don’t have a change of clothes. I know people go to love hotels to get naked, but I don’t really think I’m up for that.”

“I know, that’s okay. I don’t mind not getting naked.”

“And things probably wouldn’t get any more sexual than they were now. Definitely not anything orgasmic.”

“That’s okay too, I don’t mind.” Atsumu ran his fingers over Kiyoomi’s waist. It seemed like a comforting gesture. Kiyoomi wondered who exactly he was trying to comfort.

“You could hook up with someone else, I don’t think very many people would say no to you.” Kiyoomi wasn’t sure why he needed to point that out, but he did. Something in him needed to make sure Atsumu understood there wouldn’t be much action if he spent the night with him.

“Yeah, maybe. I’m not looking for a hookup though.”

Kiyoomi looked at him. His feeling were muddy, undefined. There was definitely attraction on both sides, and Kiyoomi obviously wasn’t wrong about Atsumu’s flirty looks hiding some genuine feelings. Could they continue this anyway? Should they? Would they both be hurt and confused come morning?

“Look, Samu and I are staying at a hotel not too far from here,” Atsumu said, pushing himself away from Kiyoomi’s body, leaning on the railing. They were standing side by side now. “I could ask him to crash somewhere else. Aran’s here, maybe Samu could stay with him. We came over yesterday, most of my clothes are clean, you could have a shower in peace and I’d get you a change of clothes. If that sounds good to you.”

It did sound good to him. He nodded.

“Nothing needs to happen, too. I don’t expect anything.” Oh god, not only was he beautiful, he was sweet. Kiyoomi knew Atsumu was capable of being considerate, he’d seen that before, Atsumu had always been respectful of his boundaries, but Kiyoomi honestly didn’t know he could be sweet about it as well.

“… So, should I ask Samu?” Atsumu sounded insecure. Kiyoomi realized he hadn’t said anything in a while. He gathered his courage, turned to face Atsumu again and touched his cheek, brushed his bangs back.

“Yeah. Yes. Ask him. But I don’t want to kick your brother out, if he doesn’t want to go, I understand that.”

“Nah, he’ll go, he’s not a cockblock.”

Kiyoomi scrunched his brows at him. “You do realize I’m the cockblock here, right? I mean, I’m saying there won’t be any cock action even if we spend the night together.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever, Omi. I mean Samu’s not gonna block the possibility of _some_ type of action.”

“Why do you complain about him all the time again?”

“He’s annoying, a jerk and mean to me any chance he gets.”

“I hope you realize you’re contradicting yourself right now.”

“Whatever, Omi. Come on, let’s go. Komori’s probably had enough of guarding the door.”

“You asked my _cousin_ to be a doorman while you’re out here with me?” Kiyoomi was equal parts amused and embarrassed. But it made sense, the two of them were friendly ever since they were both invited to the national team and enjoyed teasing Kiyoomi to no end.

“He seemed pretty enthusiastic about it too.”

“He thinks there’s something going on between us, that’s why.”

“Well, he’s not wrong,” Atsumu pointed, squeezing the tips of Kiyoomi’s fingers between his. He let go of his hand when they reached the door and reached to open the door, letting Kiyoomi pass through. It was such a natural thing for them too, whenever they were around each other, Atsumu was the one reaching for door handles, opening windows and dealing with any other surfaces Kiyoomi might be (and was) uncomfortable with. At some point, he stopped thanking him, accepting it as part of their interactions, but he probably should have kept better note of how much Atsumu was going out of his way for him. He thanked him softly.

Atsumu looked at him confused, but simply said, “Sure, Omi. I’m gonna go talk to Samu. See ya later.” He gave him a smile, one of those that made Kiyoomi blurt out he liked him before. His heart raced.

Kiyoomi watched as Atsumu talked to his twin. He was pretty sure he saw Osamu mouth a “no way” at some point, but both of them were smiling, so he assumed it wasn’t in regards to leaving the room. Atsumu turned to grin at him after a couple of minutes, which he interpreted as a sign that the matter was settled.

“You’re staring again. Might you be thinking about Kageyama joining us at this table again?” Motoya teased. Even Ushijima and his girlfriend didn’t hold back their laugh now.

Sometimes, Kiyoomi could be brave. He decided today was one of those times. These people were his friends after all.

“Not the setter I was thinking about.”

A couple more hours passed, Atsumu continued with his regular check ins across the table. He didn’t even bother with the flirty looks now. People started getting up from their tables, saying their goodbyes to the newlyweds and trickling out of the reception hall. Wakatoshi and Kanae, as well as some other couples slow danced on the podium. As the number of people grew smaller, those who remained started putting tables together so everyone could gather around. Champagne started flowing more freely, as did shouchuu and other spirits. Kiyoomi wondered if Atsumu would rather stay for this part of the celebrations, but he surprised him by getting up after a couple of minutes.

“Alright, I’m gonna head out now,” he said, giving Bokuto and Ayumi big hugs.

Kiyoomi got up as well, grabbed his suit jacket, said his goodbyes (Motoya grinned at him encouragingly) and walked towards Atsumu, who opened the door for him.

“Ready to go?”

“Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decided to continue the story. Still not feeling my style completely, but it's alright.
> 
> I decided to share the original characters' names. It would feel awkward to keep referring to them as "the bride" and "Ushijima's girlfriend" all the time.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just prolonged suffering in the form of a panic attack. You have been warned.
> 
> Next chapter will be all fluff, promise. Okay, self-doubt sprinkled in, but fluff.
> 
> Also, Atsumu is good people.

The cab ride was quiet. Dead quiet.

They’d gotten in, Atsumu gave the driver the hotel address and they were on their way. Kiyoomi was looking at the pattern of the lace draped over the driver’s seat when suddenly, in the tight, enclosed, unknown place that had who knows how many passengers that day, was cleaned who knows how many days, weeks or even months ago and was disinfected possibly never, it hit him: _what was he doing?_ He had never gone to someone’s hotel. The two times he’d gone to a love hotel after his disastrous breakup, it ended tragically. The first girl had witnessed him have a full-blown panic attack right as she was undressing. With the second one, he had recognized the early signs of an attack and asked her to leave before he had even entered the bathroom to wash his hands.

And now he was going to a teammate’s hotel room. After they had kissed at Bokuto’s wedding.

The glow of the wedding was wearing off. The jubilant atmosphere and lights reflecting in Atsumu’s eyes felt like a distant memory. Panic was wrapping around him, tightening its grip. His stomach turned and his mind started to slip. What was wrong with him to think that Miya Atsumu was beautiful and kind and considerate and warm and fond? What was wrong with him to think that he could go to his hotel room, spend a night with him and not destroy this friendship, the comfort of the team he finally felt he belonged in and, quite possibly, his entire career?

He could feel his breath get wet, his throat burn and his eyes pool. And he couldn’t look away from that god _damned_ lace. He needed to breathe, he needed to stop, he needed to get aw—

A brush of fingers against his pinky. A whisper: “Is this okay?”

He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t turn his head. He nodded and hoped to the entire universe that Atsumu would see it in the dark of the cab. And then he hoped some more: that Atsumu wouldn’t be repulsed if he started crying, if his nose started running and snot started dripping onto his lap, if he couldn’t draw a single breath, if he unraveled completely before him. That he would stay, that he wouldn’t pity him. That he would pretend this was a blip in the system and not the reality of being around Kiyoomi, being _with_ Kiyoomi. Maybe, _just maybe_ , that he would accept it was the reality.

Atsumu scooted over, just enough not to have to hold his arm outstretched, still keeping enough distance as to not crowd Kiyoomi. Kept stroking his finger gently. Just the one. Up and down, in a straight line, in an S line, tapping along, pressing over his knuckles, with one finger, two fingers… Kiyoomi wondered vaguely if Atsumu knew that the variance was bringing him out of his muddy, suffocating thoughts and back to the backseat of the cab. The knowledge that he probably did made something in Kiyoomi’s chest ache.

Finally, he took a deep breath and settled into the seat.

“Just a few minutes more.”

“Yeah.”

He breathed. He couldn’t do anything else, so he did that.

When the taxi eventually pulled up to the hotel and the driver read out the fare, Kiyoomi counted his half in his head as Atsumu handed over a bill. Once they were outside, Kiyoomi handed over what he owed and watched with silent appreciation as Atsumu took the money. They had agreed before getting the taxi that they would split the bill and he was grateful that Atsumu wasn’t walking back on that, trying to treat him.

Kiyoomi’s breath was still rather wet and his eyes prickled with tears he’d been trying hard to hold back, so when Atsumu lifted his gaze to Kiyoomi’s face, he quickly looked away.

“Want to go grab some water and snacks at the konbini down the street? It’s like, two minutes away? You can stay outside if you’d rather not deal with enclosed spaces.”

Kiyoomi nodded. He should probably start talking, otherwise Atsumu might start believing that being nonverbal was a feature of his _episodes_ , which, realistically, it was, but it wasn’t something he was entirely comfortable introducing Atsumu to. Though, with the other option being panicked rambling between teary hiccups, if he had to choose, being nonverbal was _far less_ humiliating.

He truly hated his mind sometimes, he thought as a soft hand brushed against the back of his own. Maybe it was an accident, he thought. When it happened again, Kiyoomi concluded it couldn’t have been. He lifted his eyes to Atsumu’s, whose gaze was fixed straight ahead, but the tilt of his lips betrayed his intentions. Kiyoomi returned the touch, it was almost like hand-holding, except their palms weren’t clasped tightly together, instead, their knuckles brushed against one another in a back and forth that made Kiyoomi’s heart race.

When they reached the konbini, Kiyoomi sat on the railing in front of the store and Atsumu informed him: “I’ll be right back.”

In less than five minutes, he was back, holding a plastic bag in one hand and a half-eaten éclair in the other. Kiyoomi was amazed enough by his appetite that it got him to speak.

“There was cake at the wedding. And a full-course menu. You’re _still_ eating?”

Atsumu blinked, then grinned. Kiyoomi knew, knew with absolute certainty, that he would want to strangle Atsumu for whatever was about to leave his mouth.

“ _It speaks!_ ” he exclaimed, feigning disbelief.

“You’re a dick, Miya.”

Atsumu stalked over to him, the flirty look from earlier in the day making a comeback: “Want a _bite_ , Omi?”

“No,” he said petulantly and Atsumu stuffed the remaining half of the éclair in his mouth.

“Gross,” Kiyoomi said as Atsumu walked over to the bins by the entrance. After he threw away the wrapper, he pulled out a pack of disinfectant wipes from the bag, wiped his lips clean of the chocolate and proceeded to clean his hands.

“Don’t wipe your lips with disinfectant, it’ll dry them,” Kiyoomi offered, knowing all too well how uncomfortable too much disinfectant on the skin could be.

“Worried about my lips, huh?” Atsumu teased, grinning. It was as if the dam broke, Atsumu’s natural flirtiness collecting while Kiyoomi couldn’t speak and now it was free to spill out. Atsumu didn’t seem repulsed by Kiyoomi, quite the opposite in fact. The thought was oddly comforting.

Still, Kiyoomi didn’t quite know what to do with that flirtiness, so he started walking back to the hotel. Atsumu came chasing after him, but he got the hint and kept quiet.

Perhaps it would have been better if he hadn’t because the prickling of anxiety that was once again spreading through Kiyoomi’s body made him think he should have stayed at the wedding and caught one of the last trains home. That way, at least, he wouldn’t have been on the verge of a panic attack ever since getting in the cab.

But then he also wouldn’t have this, and this was light brushing of knuckles against the back of his hand.

The contact ceded when they reached the hotel’s entrance.

“I’ll go ask for some fresh towels. You can wait for me in the lobby,” Atsumu informed him and walked over to the reception.

Kiyoomi watched as Atsumu chatted politely with the receptionist. She was pretty, hair in a bun, high cheeks and straight teeth that showed through her smile. She looked like someone Atsumu would happily flirt with on team outings after a good match. Maybe he’d take her to a hotel. Maybe they’d go on a date. Maybe they’d ride in a taxi and hold hands and talk and smile. Maybe she’d touch his bare skin—

“Okay, all set.” Atsumu was suddenly in front of him, holding two sets of clean towels. Did he ask for them to be packed in plastic bags or was that just how the hotel stored them?

The elevator ride was uncomfortable. The tight space and the buttons that hundreds of dirty fingers pressed between each cleaning made Kiyoomi’s stomach knot, while his thoughts stayed with the pretty receptionist with her pretty smile to match Atsumu’s and how she, and nearly anyone else on the planet, could give Atsumu so much more. This was simple reality: Kiyoomi couldn’t offer much, and even if he tried, his efforts would be accompanied by wet breaths and teary eyes. _Atsumu could have anyone, why did he want him?_

Somehow they made it to the door.

“Hold this for a bit, would’ya?”

Kiyoomi took the towels.

Atsumu dug out his wallet, grabbed the key card, held the door open so that Kiyoomi could enter the room. Kiyoomi whispered a _thank you for having me over_. Once inside, Atsumu pressed the light switch on, grabbed a pair of hotel-provided slippers, put them in front of Kiyoomi, undid his shoelaces, took his dress shoes off and slipped into a pair of red Onigiri Miya slippers that Kiyoomi recognized from the times he’d roomed with Atsumu on away games. Apparently, Osamu’s were blue.

Atsumu reached for the towels again and when Kiyoomi handed them over, set them on a table a bit farther inside the room.

Kiyoomi’s anxiety must have been written all over his face because, when Atsumu turned to him again, he said:

“Look, I said it before and I’ll say it again: _nothing needs to happen_. I’ll grab you some clothes, you can go shower and if, when you come back out, you decide _this ain’t it_ , I’ll call you a cab and you can go home. I won’t be mad. I won’t be hurt. I won’t be insulted. If you decide to stay, we can watch a movie, or a game, or we can talk. You can pick a bed you like and I’ll take the other one. I really have no expectations.”

“Okay,” Kiyoomi rasped, tears prickling in his eyes.

“Okay,” Atsumu repeated, a soft smile dancing on his lips.

Atsumu went to wash his hands, then returned to open one of the towel packs, took out a small hand towel and walked back into the bathroom to set it on one of the holders.

“There, now you can wash your hands too.”

When Kiyoomi came out of the bathroom, he found Atsumu on the floor. He was quite the sight: a 23-year-old pile of muscle in his best suit and tie, digging through his suitcase. Athletic pants, boxer briefs and a pair of socks were already on the table.

“Sorry, I don’t think I packed a long sleeve shirt,” he said, unfolding a baggy maroon shirt. It looked worn, but the way Atsumu looked at it made Kiyoomi think it was a _good shirt_. He told Atsumu as much:

“It’s okay, that one looks fine.”

Atsumu chuckled. “Never took you for a liar, Omi.”

Kiyoomi shook his head. “I’m not lying.” If Atsumu wanted to give him one of his favorite shirts, Kiyoomi would take it, even if it was stretched out and slightly tattered.

Atsumu refolded it and set it on the pile. “Want to go first or should I?”

“I’ll go,” Kiyoomi said, collecting the pile of clothes.

“Feel free to use one of the hotel toothbrushes, Samu and I brought our own. You can use our toothpaste if you like it better than the hotel stuff. Shampoos and everything else too.”

“Thanks,” Kiyoomi managed to push a smile to his lips. Was this the first time he smiled since they left the wedding?

In the bathroom, Kiyoomi stripped out of his clothes and folded them neatly on the clothes basket. Under the spray of the shower, he let his thoughts wander and finally let his tears fall. Was he crying because of the stress of the day, spending a long stretch of time with three hundred people in the same room? Was he crying because he had been fighting off a panic attack for more than an hour? Was it because he couldn’t bear the silent, stubborn acceptance with which Atsumu dealt with his issues? It was probably a combination of the three, but he didn’t have the emotional capacity to deal with any of it now. Instead, he let the shampoo in his hair and the soap suds on his skin wash away as much of his anxieties as they could.

Standing in front of the mirror, he carefully brushed his teeth and tried to make himself look somewhat human. He twirled the locks around his fingers, attempting to tame them, and washed his face until the puffiness under his eyes could be mistaken for tiredness. Then he grabbed his dirty clothes from atop the basket, dropped the used towels in it and went back to the room.

He found Atsumu still seated on the floor. He was sure Atsumu would have gone to sit on the bed under different circumstances, but he probably didn’t want to contaminate the beds with his dirty clothes in case Kiyoomi decided to stay. His own pile of fresh clothes was sitting on the table.

“So?” Atsumu asked, looking up at him.

“I’ll stay.”

The smile that bloomed on Atsumu’s face was nothing short of a wonder: small, impossibly warm, with a blush peppering his cheeks. “I’m glad.”

This time, when Kiyoomi smiled, he didn’t have to push his muscles into it. It came to his face easily. “Yeah, me too.”

They stayed like that for a long moment, just looking at one another. Kiyoomi felt himself blush, so he looked away and Atsumu pushed himself off the floor.

“Alright, back in a minute.”

Alone in the room, Kiyoomi looked around it. He took out the pack of wipes from the kobini bag and went to the night stand next to what he fairly confidently believed to be Atsumu’s bed. He wiped it down and set the pack of wipes on it. Then he went to get the bottles of water and a pack of Pocky that Atsumu bought and placed them on the stand as well. Finally, he sat down and brought his legs up on the bed.

He toyed with the hem of Atsumu’s incredibly soft shirt as he thought about the fact that he had never worn other people’s clothes before. Okay, maybe he put his brother’s hoodie on once or twice when he was a kid. And Motoya lent him his jacket on occasion, when Kiyoomi deemed his own too sweaty and disgusting to be worn. But never before did every single piece of clothing on him belong to someone else. A couple of years ago, that idea would have disgusted him. Hell, a couple of months ago it would have. Right now, with anyone else, it would have. Strangely, sitting in Atsumu’s clothes like this, Kiyoomi felt comfortable. He felt safe and warm and welcome. Wanted.

So when Atsumu walked out of the bathroom, looked a bit shocked to find Kiyoomi on his bed and asked “Where do you want me?”, nothing felt more natural than to scoot over closer to the wall to make room for him on the bed.

And when Atsumu’s eyes darted to Kiyoomi’s and he whispered “You sure?”, the only thing that slipped off his tongue was:

“Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure at some point I'll think that finishing every chapter in a story with "Yes." is cringe (I'm almost at that point), but I'm having fun with it for now.


End file.
